


freefall

by Anonymous



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Adorable Connor, Age Regression/De-Aging, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Non-Sexual Age Play, i havent written for dbh in so long lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:08:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23785294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: local grumpy dad puts up with son's propensity for injury, more at twelve(contains agere/nsap content consider yourself warned)
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson & Connor & Sumo
Comments: 6
Kudos: 135
Collections: Anonymous





	freefall

Hank only realized the suspect had emerged from her hiding place when a sickening thud sounded from somewhere behind him, back on Connor’s end of the loading dock, a clear and sharp noise in the quiet evening air. He whirled around and drew his gun just in time to watch thirium splatter on the ground and a desperate mix of confusion and pain flicker across Connor’s face. He took a step closer, fired, and the suspect flopped to the ground, red blending with blue.

Connor stumbled, twitching, and landed roughly on his knees, hands splashing down in the disturbing red-blue puddle below him. The confusion and pain gave way to what looked like overwhelming fear, and Hank couldn’t get to his side fast enough, cramming his gun back in its holster and trying not to slip in the rainwater and motor oil puddled on the ground. “C’mon kid, stay with me. Connor!” 

Wide brown eyes met his, looking very lost and very scared. Hank knew that look of someone caught in a freefall and terrified to land, and it wrenched something deep in his chest. He guessed that Connor had dropped in his headspace just as quickly as he’d dropped to his knees; the android regressing from stress or fear was common enough in the safety of their home (nightmares were a bitch), but even surrounded by warm dog and warm blankets an unexpected drop was always disorienting to the point of overwhelming. In the middle of a crime scene? And from a surprise head injury to boot?

Safe to say Hank had his hands in Connor’s hair as soon as he closed to distance between them.

The injury cut a jagged line across Connor’s bare temple, and the shell of his head felt warped even past his hairline. Thirium dripped steadily from the open wound and Hank cursed, trying to assess the extent of the damage without causing further pain. “Connor, I need to run some kinda diagnostic, I need to know what I’m working with here, alright?” It  _ seemed  _ like there weren’t any wires cut, no bad circuits, just one hell of a dent from the metal rod the suspect’d been wielding. Connor mumbled something along those lines, voice shaking as he watched Hank the best he could from the corners of his eyes. Hank took a second to ruffle a hand through the hair on the uninjured side of Connor’s head, hoping to soothe the android’s frazzled nerves so they could make a quick exit before any  _ real _ breakdowns were bound to happen.

“Okay, we’re gonna stand up now, got it?” The handkerchief in his pocket (usually reserved for more mundane things like snot and tears and spilled juice, not  _ copious amounts of his son’s blood _ ) he pressed firmly to the worst of the cut. Connor hummed in lieu of nodding his head and gripped Hank’s wrist, fingers still wet with both kinds of blood. 

Hank hooked his free arm under Connor’s, hefting upwards with all the strength he had left in his old back. The android stumbled once, twice, then got both feet beneath him and more or less draped the rest of him against Hank. “I’ll call in someone to check out the rest of the scene and then we’re going home. That sound good, kiddo? I bet Sumo’s all ready to go to bed. Sugar, too. They’ll be happy to see you and get all comfy, yeah? A nice, long rest so your fancy healing programs can fix you right up.” He kept up the stream of soft chatter absently, mostly occupied with keeping them both balanced and keeping Connor’s bloody fingers out of his mouth. “Hey now, don’t do that, c’monnn. Ugh. That’s super gross and you know it.”

There was nothing but innocence in the face that blinked up at him, thumb, index, and middle fingers of Connor’s dangling arm all crammed in his mouth with absolutely no inhibition at all. The quiet act of self-soothing already seemed to be doing its job, but that didn’t mean Hank had to like the way blood smeared the lower half of his kid’s face. He rolled his eyes (there wasn’t any denying Connor right now and they both knew it) and grumbled, but held a little tighter around Connor’s torso and acquiesced the arm.

The trek to the car was short, thanks to his stellar parallel parking, but the rain beat mercilessly against the pavement and Connor was more or less a deadweight against his side. Hank frowned and stepped out from the entry to the dock’s building, fixed on the silhouette of his car. “How old are we thinkin’?”

Connor huddled deeper into his shoulder, away from the rain, and whined. “Um. Small? Lots. Really small.” The fingers returned to his mouth near immediately. Hank sighed on reflex and ruffled the top of Connor’s head. Almost there. Then dry clothes, gauze, and sleep. Everything else could wait for the morning, with Connor as checked out as he seemed to be.

“Alright, kiddo. Watch your step.” The curb’s red paint was basically invisible in the darkness, but he managed to keep both of them upright and Hank considered that an astounding success. A clumsy hand scrabbled at his jacket for security, gripping tight, and he rubbed at Connor’s shoulder to steady him as they made the last few steps to the car. “In we go-” Getting the door open and Connor settled and buckled into the passenger seat was an action Hank had down to a science. The android’s eyes drifted half-closed and he slumped inwards into the curve of the seat. Probably wouldn’t rouse much at all on the drive home.

Hank dropped into the driver’s side and shook some of the water from his hair, grumbling. It took a hot second for the station to pick up the other end, but after a minute or two he had his confirmation that another detective was on the way and he and Connor were cleared to leave. If it wasn’t such a quiet, understaffed night he’d consider just leaving without bothering to call it in, but he figured once Connor was back to the whole “being an adult with a job” thing the android would appreciate him following protocol. Hmph.

The streets, true to the rest of the night, were empty and soaked. He only hit green lights and Connor only stirred once, probably in some kinda standby mode to save energy, blah blah, insert overly technical explanation here; it sure looked like a nap, and a nap is what his kid needed after tonight. It’s what he needed too but  _ someone _ had to drive the car and the pile of soft blankets weren’t going to collect themselves, nor was Connor’s hair going to dry itself off.

And that’s what being a dad meant, didn’t it? Fussing over the small stuff now and sleeping later. It was a belief that had never failed him yet, and if it ain’t broke don’t fix it. His eyes caught Connor’s relaxed face in the rearview mirror, the streaks of blue painting the left side of his face. Small stuff, his ass. Trust Connor to get his head split open in a crime scene where there wasn’t even supposed to be a criminal. Dumb kid.

The sidewalk in front of his house was dark in the wake of the broken streetlight ( _ again _ ), and he carefully hoisted Connor from his seat before locking the car and attempting to navigate the short stretch of concrete. The scrape of his keys in the lock was enough to prompt the click-click of dog claws on the other side of the door, and Hank eased the door open in the hopes that Sumo wouldn’t immediately go  _ up _ for some sorely-missed attention and love. “Down, boy. Good.”

The second he had the door closed behind them and his wet jacket hung up on a hook, he let out a relieved breath. Home sweet home was never quite as sweet as on dark, stormy nights filled with stress, blood, and more stress, and he felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. Sumo sniffed eagerly around their dripping clothes and Connor’s still bloody hands, but didn’t rise up to lick at their faces and Hank really, really appreciated it as he sat Connor down on the closed toilet seat. “Okay, game time, kid. Clothes first. No, wait-” he pulled half of Connor’s hand from his mouth. “Fingers first.”

Connor’s eyebrows screwed up a little at the loss of his hands, but there were no tears yet. Hank took them between his own and screwed the tap on, washing them in his, before letting Connor have his hands back. One went straight back to his mouth. The other latched onto the hem of Hank’s shirt. “Clothes now. Arms out, Connor.” Hank tugged at the jacket (the kid still clung to his original Cyberlife one despite Hank’s best efforts) and tossed it into the tub with a wet smack. It seemed his jacket and shirt had caught most of the rain, because the shirt went in the tub while the pants were simply folded, still dry, and placed on the countertop. “I’ll be right back. Got it?” A slow nod, then another crease in Connor’s forehead as it re-aggravated the wound. Hank gently untangled the fingers from his shirt and ducked over into his bedroom.

Connor listed sideways against the counter and sink, chewing gently at his knuckle. The blue blood trailing down the side of his face was starting to get annoying, and the pain of the dent was enough to be discouraging, but the attack had mostly frightened him. All he’d known before he’d regressed really, really quickly was a sharp burst of pain and a foggy bewilderment, then it’d felt like he was falling and he couldn’t stop himself, and then he was just very, very scared and  _ Where was Hank? _ And then Hank was there and he knew it would be okay.

His wet socks squeaked against the linoleum and he couldn’t help a small smile, rubbing his toes at the floor again. He was tired and maybe a little out of it, but couldn’t focus on much else besides the fingers in his mouth and the funny sound of wet fabric against the floor. He shivered, wanting a shirt or a sweater, but Hank had left to get clothes so he merely settled in for the short wait, content to drift a little in the meantime. Being tiny usually took out all of his care for details or control. He just felt small, uncaring about the big people things and easily amused by whatever he happened to focus on.

Hank came back to a giggly, tired kid half-falling off the toilet seat and he grinned. “What’s so funny, Connor? Huh? You happy?” His voice took on a lighter tone, easy when Connor was younger like this. “Arms up again, kiddo.” The loose sweater was simple to drag over Connor’s head and shove his clumsy hands through. He’d do the shorts and socks once he’d patched up the head wound. “You still hurting?”

“Nuh uh. Jus’ bloody.” Connor looked fairly affronted by this, as if the thirium tracing a line from his temple to his chin and even down his neck had something against Connor personally. Hank snorted and wiped most of it away with toilet paper, leaving the stained wads in the sink for later. “Sleep yet?”

“Not yet, lil’ man. Lemme slap some gauze on that to keep you from bleedin’ on the pillow and we should be good for tonight.” He pressed a square or two against the length of the gash, securing it with a strip of cloth bandaging; there’s no way he’d get medical tape to stick to Connor’s wet hair. “All good, up you get.” He pulled Connor upright, guiding the kid’s hands to his shoulders. “Step. Good.” Shorts done, then the socks, and then he had an armful of fully-dry sleepy little android and not a whole lot of energy left, himself.

“Bed we go. Say g’night to the puppy, Connor.” The kid complied, patting Sumo and mumbling I love you’s and accepting doggy kisses to the palms of his hands. Hank scritched at the Saint Bernard’s ears before tugging Connor along with him towards bed. Oh, bed. The sweet release of sleep had never been so close.

He more or less flopped onto the covers as Connor crawled in beside him. Hank was far too tired to insist Connor use his own bed, recognizing the way Connor’s LED hadn’t left yellow since they had gotten home and how the kid’s shoulders still trembled. “C’mon.” He pulled at the blankets and got both of them tucked in, Connor’s head pillowed on his shoulder. “There we go. Night night, kiddo.”

“G’nigh’, Dad.” The reply was quiet, and he let out a breath, relaxing into the mattress. Nothin’ fixed a bad day like coming home to his bed and his dog and his kid could. They were both out within the minute, exhausted from the stress of the day. And when Hank blinked awake around noon, and when he flipped pancakes and watched Connor giggle from his spot perched on the counter, Sumo licking at Connor’s dangling feet, and when he had to wipe maple syrup from hair and fingers and clothes and  _ the walls?? _ he knew there was no way else he’d rather spend his Saturday off.


End file.
